Under the Color of Law (30 page)

He found Sloan staked out in the Blazer, eased the minivan up next to him, and opened his window.

"I was just gonna give you a call, LT," Sloan said.

"Do you know a Colonel Sara Brannon?" Molina asked.

"Isn't the chief married to an army officer? I think that's her name.

What's up?"

Molina dialed Kerney's home phone. It rang unanswered.

"In gram just faxed her a message at a downtown hotel. I'm going there now. If he moves, switch off and follow him. I'll come back and baby-sit Applewhite."

"Ten-four. Why would the chief's wife be staying at a hotel?"

"Maybe they checked in together."

"Must be nice," Sloan said.

"I can't even afford to buy my wife dinner at one of those places."

Applewhite opened her door. Wrapped in a hotel robe, she stared up at Ingram from under heavy eyebrows. Indentations from a pillow ran across her cheek. Her sleepy face showed no signs of softness. She looked damn ugly without any makeup.

Ingram sucked breath mints. He told Applewhite about Sara Brannon's arrival on the scene, where she was, and her subsequent activities.

"Not good," Applewhite said.

"How did you get made?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you have listeners in place at the hotel?"

"They're setting up now. Give it thirty minutes."

"Why is it taking so long?"

"Everybody was tasked. I had to free up some people."

"Did you bring hard copies?"

Ingram dropped a file on the dresser.

"This is what she's done so far. It's all Internet surfing. I think we should go at this cautiously."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Find a way to have Brannon's weekend cut short. Let's get her back to Leavenworth and take her out of the picture."

"I'll run the idea by the ambassador," Applewhite said.

"Did you know that bitch made light colonel?"

A spiteful, jealous expression on Elaine's face almost made In gram flinch.

"Yeah, I know," he said, stepping to the door. He couldn't resist pushing Applewhite's buttons.

"And she was decorated with the Distinguished Service Medal. I heard they wanted to give her the Silver Star, but that would have meant admitting that she'd been in a hostile action with North Korean troops.

Isn't that something?"

"She's an ass-kissing bitch," Applewhite said.

"That's what got her the DSM and the promotion."

Sara fell asleep on the couch. She woke up to a knock, saw that a piece of paper had been slipped under the door, and looked through the peephole, expecting to see a bellhop waiting for a tip. Instead, she saw a man holding up an SFPD shield. Kerney wandered out of the bedroom groggy eyed and in his underwear as she picked up the piece of paper and unlatched the door.

Molina held up his clipboard with an attached piece of paper that read:

Sara nodded, closed the door, and glanced at the paper. It was a handwritten fax message to her that read:

Go BACK To Your post.

A five-digit number followed the message. They dressed and hurried to meet Molina.

"Who wants you to go back to your post?" Kerney asked as they walked down the corridor to the elevators.

"And why?"

"I don't know," Sara replied in a troubled voice.

The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor to reveal Molina pacing impatiently. The night manager behind the guest check-in counter looked on with unabashed interest.

"How did you locate us?" Kerney asked Molina.

"Ingram faxed your wife a message," Sal said, holding up an office key.

"I've got a place where we can talk. What did the message say, Chief?"

Sara answered.

"Basically, it said get out of town."

Molina took them into the general manager's office and slipped a minicassette into his pocket tape recorder.

"This was just picked up from Agent Applewhite's room," he said.

"I recorded it off my handheld radio, so the sound quality isn't great, but you can still make it out."

Sara and Kerney listened to the tape of Ingram's conversation with Applewhite.

Molina glanced over Ingram's fax message. When the tape ended Sal asked,

"What do the numbers in the fax message mean?"

"Each West Point graduate is assigned what's known as a Cullen number,"

Sara said.

"It's named for the general who began chronicling biographies of every graduate in 1850. The numbers are assigned alphabetically and in sequence starting from the first graduate through the most recent class.

Everyone has a unique number. I'm betting this one is Tim's.

He wanted to make sure I'd know who sent the message."

"So that you'd take it seriously," Kerney added.

"He also gave Applewhite a suggestion on how to ease you out of the picture."

"Exactly. Something nasty is in the works and Ingram isn't happy about it. He risked a lot to warn me."

"How did he get onto you so fast?"

"I think I know," Molina said. He looked totally sleep deprived.

"Perry never showed at the airport, so Sloan took Apple white. I waited until Ingram arrived and followed him. He went directly to the federal courthouse, where he stayed for a good three hours."

"Did you keep a surveillance log?" Sara asked.

"I can give you exact times," Molina said, consulting his notepad. He read off a chronology of Ingram's movements in hours and minutes.

"He tapped into my laptop," Sara said.

"Either through Carnivore or SWAMI," Kerney said, swinging his attention to Molina.

"This is the second trip someone's made to the federal courthouse."

"Yeah, Perry last night," Molina said with a weary smile.

"But it feels like it happened a week ago."

"That's where the tapes are," Kerney said.

"How reliable is your informant?"

"Jake? He's a retired sheriff's captain."

"Perfect. That makes him a rock-solid source. See what more you can squeeze out of him. Get specific information about what's inside that room. Concentrate on communication equipment, radio and television monitors, computers-any kind of hardware that's used for electronic surveillance."

Molina took notes.

"He might not budge."

"Find a way to push him."

"Anything else?"

"Get background information on his law-enforcement career. I'll need to be able to show that he has expert knowledge of undercover operations and equipment."

"Are you going for a search warrant?"

"You bet I am. That room may hold exactly what's needed to break this investigation wide open. Where's Sloan?"

"Following Ingram back to Albuquerque."

"Someone has to keep an eye on Applewhite while you're busy with Jake.

Have Deputy Chief Otero backstop you. He's filled in on the operation.

If Charlie Perry makes an appearance, Larry covers him."

"How long do you want us to go with this, Chief?"

Kerney looked at his watch. It was four in the morning.

"We pull the plug in twelve hours, as originally planned. Can you hang in there?"

"Ten-four, Chief. Where will you be in case we need to make contact?"

"Sara and I will be paying some early visits to a couple of people.

I'll keep in touch with you by cell phone."

Sara's early-morning cranky stomach slowed them down. She drank a special herbal tea she'd brought along and waved off Kerney's suggestion to proceed without her. His attempts to comfort her were likewise rebuffed.

She dressed while Kerney booked the hotel suite for the remainder of the weekend. She emerged from the bedroom looking shaky and pale.

Kerney wondered how she could do a five-mile run every weekday morning before her classes at Fort Leavenworth.

On the streets school buses collected small groups of waiting students at intersections, slowing up impatient drivers who zipped around the buses as soon as the red warning lights stopped flashing.

They waited behind a bus and Sara said, "Before Lieutenant Molina showed up, I did some Internet surfing on Trade Source. Proctor Straley was one of the original investors. He netted fifty million dollars after the company went public, and still holds a sizable block of shares."

The school bus moved. Kerney let cars go around before passing.

"That tangles the web a bit," he said.

"What if the information Phyllis Terrell passed on to Father Mitchell came from her father and not the ambassador?"

"I've given that some thought," Sara said.

"If Straley is involved in the cover-up, Ingram will have warned him by now about our interest in his Trade Source connection."

"If Straley's guarded when meet with him, or not the grieving father, that could tell he's been alerted."

"Not necessarily," Sara said.

"Straley's a heavyweight corporate player. He's dealt with hostile take-overs, angry shareholders, and a Justice Department antitrust probe. I bet he knows how to hold a good poker hand."

On the valley road to the Stewart residence an SLJV filled with school-aged teenagers sped by. Sara looked at the hillside houses and the sweet mountain views. Cloudlike wisps of snow floated off higher peaks. Soft morning light sparkled against the tree cover.

"Nice neighborhood," she said.

"Why don't we rent something up here until we build?"

"Are you serious?"

"Don't be such a penny-pincher, Kerney. Spend some of those riches you've inherited."

Kerney rolled to a stop in Stewart's driveway.

"Let me girl-talk with Mrs. Stewart," Sara said.

"Are you feeling up to it?"

Sara ate a saltine cracker, gave Kerney a winsome smile, swung her legs out of the truck, and said, "I'm fine."

Kerney hung back and let Sara take the lead. The older woman who let them into the foyer spoke in hushed tones. Her daughter couldn't possibly be disturbed, the family was in mourning, the children would become even more upset than they already were.

Sara countered with a sympathetic smile and reassurances. She understood completely, the visit would be brief, there was new information to be shared.

The woman left to consult with her daughter. She came back and took them down a long hallway past a kitchen where an older man was preparing breakfast for two silent young boys sitting at a long country-style table. They climbed stairs to a second-floor master suite where Mrs.

Stewart sat on a couch in a sitting room clutching a pillow around her stomach. A long velour skirt covered her legs. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell loosely across her shoulders. She had a sharp nose that didn't detract from her wholesome good looks, and eyes that seemed slightly tranquilized. An untouched cup of coffee sat within arm's reach on an end table.

"Lori, are you sure you want to talk now?" the older woman asked.

"It's all right, Mother."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, you go on."

The woman left and Sara sat on the far end of the couch. Kerney moved to a horizontal window that framed the valley panorama below and perched silently on a low ranch-style bench.

Sara turned to face Lori.

"Thank you for seeing us. I know this must be hard."

"What do you want to tell me?"

"We have evidence that strongly suggests your husband was with Phyllis Terrell the night she was killed," Sara said.

Lori Stewart studied Sara unflinchingly.

"What bearing does that have on Randall's death?"

"You're not surprised?"

"From what I've read, her killer was identified by the FBI," Mrs.

Stewart replied.

"Randall may have been many things, but he was not a murderer."

"Many things?" Sara echoed.

"I'd rather not go into it."

"I can understand how you might want to keep family matters private,"

Sara said.

"My parents adored Randall," Lori said.

"Now that he's gone I see no need for them to feel otherwise."

"He was with Phyllis the night she was murdered."

"I'd rather not comment."

"I know how difficult it can be to talk about personal matters with strangers," Sara said.

"If you wish, for the sake of your parents and your children, what you tell us doesn't have to be made public."

Lori reached for her coffee with a shaky hand. She clasped the cup with both hands, took a sip, and said, "You can promise me that?"

"Yes," Sara said.

"Please tell me about Phyllis and Randall."

"I never wanted Randall dead. I only wanted him out of my life. I knew he was sleeping with Phyllis. It wasn't the first time he'd been unfaithful."

"Tell me how you knew."

Lori Stewart put the coffee cup down.

"It started six months after Phyllis moved in. We'd met her socially at neighborhood gatherings, and I could see that Randall was drawn to her.

She started calling and asking if she could borrow him to help her with her computer. He liked to think he was something of an expert.

Soon after that it became obvious what was happening."

"How so?" Sara asked.

"He changed his jogging schedule. Said he thought it would be better to go running later at night, especially during the warm weather. He'd be gone much too long."

"Did you confront him with your suspicions?" Sara asked.

Lori Stewart shook her head.

"No. I talked to an attorney about divorcing him.

He said I'd be much better off to wait until after our tenth anniversary to do it. The court takes a more favorable view of equitable settlements if the marriage has had longevity."